


Nothing Less Than Extraordinary

by versarilaetus



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, Sandwiches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-08-09 21:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versarilaetus/pseuds/versarilaetus
Summary: What if Will hadn't died on Maveth?Fitz saves Will. It was the right thing to do, but that doesn't mean he likes it.  No matter what Jemma does, she will hurt someone she loves.  Fitzsimmons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU from Season 3 episode 10. 
> 
> Will is himself. Ward is still Hive. Jemma and Fitz's relationship suddenly becomes a little more complicated.

Fitz was coated in sand—a suffocating second skin that turned everything a dull beige. He touched his forehead. The blood on his fingertips came back the color of mud. 

He’d give two pints for a shower and a bed. A proper football match wouldn’t hurt either. 

Sand was embedded underneath his fingernails and caught underneath his shirt collar. He ran a swollen tongue over his cracked lips. They tasted like that godforsaken place—like grit and ozone and not-home.

Twelve hours. They had only been on Maveth for twelve hours. Jemma had survived three weeks on that godforsaken planet before she’d even found water. It was hard to think about. 

The module was too bright—a blinding white that made Fitz feel like a dead body on Jemma’s examination table. He squinted at the others, his eyes still burning from the sand storm. Plumes of dust billowed off Coulson’s jacket as he debriefed Mack and Daisy, gesturing with the glowing end of his amputated arm. 

Fitz noticed that the Director left out the part where he’d murdered an unarmed man with his bare hands. A few years ago Fitz would have been shocked. But he understood hate now. Had gotten his own bitter taste of injustice. 

He was glad Ward was dead. He wasn’t sure what kind of person that made him or Coulson, but he’d be lying if he said otherwise. 

Fitz sagged against the padded wall. The module’s artificial atmosphere pressed on his shoulders, the micro differences in gravity weighing him down. He felt heavy, every movement slow and sluggish.

His head pounded with dehydration, and Fitz tried not to think about water as the module shot through the night on its way to the Zephyr. 

There were a lot of things he was trying not to think about right now. 

Will sat cross from him, staring down at his boots. They were held together with frayed duct tape, the leather worn clean through in places. His fingers were threaded through his dark hair, shoulders hunched. He hadn’t said a word since Fitz had dragged him through the portal. The man’s leg was bleeding again, bright red soaking into the rust colored stain that already colored his pants. 

Will would need medical attention immediately. Surgery for that bullet wound. Time in isolation to reacclimatize to the atmosphere and oxygen levels. Not to mention psychological help. Fitz couldn’t fathom what being alone on a dark planet for fourteen years would do to your psyche. 

Fitz desperately wanted to hate him. 

Will was handsome in that rugged way girls seemed to like. The way Jemma liked, apparently. 

That hurt to think about too. Fitz turned to the window. He’d known a lot of guys like Will over the years. He was the type who seemed to slide effortlessly through life with an easy smile and the right girl on his arm. Will was everything Fitz wasn’t—tall and strong and confident. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, the man was a damn astronaut.

Fitz braced himself as the module locked into place underneath the Zephyr. In the distance, he could see Jupiter shining amongst the stars, 365 million miles from earth, just a bright dot of light in the night sky. Somewhere far beyond it was Maveth.

Behind him, Will stood with a quiet groan. The hydraulics whined and clicked. “There is no possible way I can thank you,” the reflection of Will said quietly as they started to rise into the belly of the ship. 

Fitz shook his head. His stomach was slick with dread. In a second they would be inside. She would be there. Jemma.

He never should have kissed her. 

Fitz didn’t really believe in curses, of course. It was a defense mechanism of the human mind. A thinly veiled attempt to make sense of a random, cruel world. But the more he saw of monsters and portals and inhumans, the less he understood the universe or its intentions. And he definitely didn’t understand this. 

He turned away from the window as the platform slid into view, giving his back to Jemma and the future they might have shared. 

“I didn’t do it for you,” he told Will. 

Will nodded, his face streaked with mud and blood. “I know.” 

***

Jemma buried her face in Will’s shoulder. He smelled like Maveth. She wished it wasn’t a strange sort of comfort, the same way she wished she didn’t feel safe in his arms. 

He murmured into her ear—sweet, quiet words. Jemma felt her muscles relax, tension bleed from her skin. It was over. She’d saved Will from that nightmare. She had brought a good man back to life. 

Or Fitz had. 

The back of Jemma’s throat ached. She could feel him watching her. Could feel him watching Will’s hand on her back and his lips in her hair. 

She was hurting Fitz. The truth was a shard of glass lodged inside her heart.

It had always been his arms she had fallen into after a crisis. Had always been his shoulder. And he had given that up because she had asked. Fitz had risked his life and reached through space to give her the one thing that might break them. 

Jemma stood on her toes, burying her face in Will’s neck. She had survived that bloody planet. Had fought off the monster that lived in the storm. Had found her way home. She was braver then she would have ever thought possible before joining Shield. 

But Jemma couldn’t seem to bring herself to turn around and face her best friend. She squeezed her eyes shut. 

The first time she’d thought about kissing Fitz had been at the Academy. He’d offered to walk her back to her dormitory after a long study session at the library. It had been late and cold, but they had paused in the yellow circle of a street light to argue about the biochemical connection between blood sugar levels and delinquent behavior. 

Without being asked, Fitz had shrugged off his hoodie, rambling as he absently wrapped it around her shoulders. He had been standing so close Jemma could feel the heat of his body, but Fitz hadn’t seemed to notice. He’d just waved a hand as he theorized, his cheeks rosy—whether from the cold or the argument, she couldn’t be sure. 

The first flakes of snow had drifted out of the night sky and caught in his eyelashes. Jemma had found herself wondered what Fitz would do if she leaned forward and stole his words with her lips. 

If he would gasp against her mouth. If he would go quiet and pull her close. 

She had wanted to kiss him that night in the snow. More than she would like to admit. But there was something that made her hesitate—a tinge of dark in his brightness, like the hard ice at the center of a flaming comet. 

He was shy and pasty and awkward. But he was also brilliant and complicated and reckless. Kissing someone like Fitz would never be simple. So she hadn’t—not then and not any of the other times it had crossed her mind over the past ten years. 

Those moments of wanting him came and went quietly. Once when his cheek had brushed hers as they bent over a specimen they were analyzing for Chem lab. Another time, they had been watching a movie in her bedroom, her toes tucked underneath his leg, his hand resting absently on her knee.

All that had changed underneath the Atlantic.

You’re more than that.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. But she had been. Jemma knew Fitz better than she knew herself. But she had missed this. Missed the most important piece of data.

It wasn’t until Maveth that she’d given herself permission to really think about what they could be. 

The nights are bitterly cold on a sunless planet. Those first endless days, she would curl up against a rock to block the wind, bury her feet underneath the sand for warmth, and try to sleep. But it was impossible. 

So she thought about Fitz and Perthshire and the future that had been lost. 

But then she met Will. They had quite literally been the last people alive and her broken heart had clung to him. 

And now here they were—things were complicated and awful and no matter what she did, she would hurt someone she loved. 

“Jemma?” Bobbi said tentatively. 

She had no choice but to step out of Will’s arms. He kept her hand between his, smiling at the team despite the exhaustion that lined his face. He nodded as Bobbi explained the mandatory isolation and medical tests he would need before they could release him from the medical ward. 

Jemma wasn’t listening. She was looking for Fitz. 

But there was a space amongst the group where he should have been—there between Daisy and Mack—a space where Fitz should have been watching her with that half smile he used only with her. 

But Fitz was gone. He had left without checking on her. 

She stared at the empty doorway. Jemma felt dizzy, her insides bruised. Fitz had followed Ward into the portal because he didn’t want to lose her again. Because he couldn’t live in a world without her. 

For the first time, Jemma considered that there might be a limit to what even Fitz could give her. And after everything she had survived—that she might be the one who had lost.


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn’t any mayonnaise in the base’s small fridge, let alone aioli or pesto. Fitz grumbled and added a slice of bologna to the last piece of limp white bread Hunter had graciously left in the bottom of the bag. The bastard was a damn glutton. 

Fitz knew he should be grateful to be alive after everything that happened on Maveth, but he wasn’t above pouting over a bad sandwich. It had been a bloody horrible year and a worse day. 

It was late but after forty-seven minutes of staring at the green glow of his alarm clock, he’d given up any pretense of sleep. The base was dark and quiet. The chance of an awkward social encounter was minimal. So he’d decided on a snack. 

He pulled open a drawer and rummaged for some crisps. There was one crumpled bag hiding underneath Mack’s god-awful pita chips. Fitz dug it out and crinkled his nose. Salt and vinegar. He hated salt and vinegar. 

Fitz considered the best way to kill Hunter and reached for his plate—one bologna sandwich without mayo it is. 

“You left.” 

Her voice was soft, but Fitz didn’t have to look up to know who was standing in the doorway. 

He should have stayed in bed. Should have rolled over one more time despite the movie of Jemma in Will’s arms playing in an agonizing loop on the back of his eyelids.

The subject of his tortured dreams stepped into the room, moving closer in the darkness. He’d left the refrigerator door open for light and it beeped quietly in the silence. Fitz stared down at his sad excuse for a sandwich. Suddenly he wasn’t so hungry. 

He didn’t want to look at her. Which was stupid, because tomorrow there would be a new crisis and he’d be back in the lab with Jemma trying to save the damn world. 

Like old times. Like nothing had changed between them. 

There was no point in delaying the inevitable, so he looked up, forcing his face into a neutral mask. 

Jemma was barefoot, her hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail. She looked like hell, her eyes hollow, as if sleep had also eluded her. 

She was wearing his hoodie—the one she’d borrowed all those years ago at the Academy. He had never bothered to ask for it back because he liked the way she looked in it. Soft and ruffled and a little bit his. 

These days Jemma only wore it when she was sick or sad. She thought he didn’t notice. But he did. He always noticed her. 

Jemma fiddled with the zipper, her dark eyes sliding off of his. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking tonight. It was a strange feeling. Proof that the bond they had shared was cracking under the pressure of her love for Will. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I left. I just…I just thought you might want to have your, uh…reunion without an audience.” 

She frowned, the space between her brows crinkling as she studied her feet. Fitz understood. He wasn’t sure what to say either. So he settled on something safe. “ Are you okay?” he asked, knowing the answer. 

Jemma shook her head, cupping her elbows with her palms. “Not really. You?” 

He ran a finger around the edge of the plate. The sight of the bologna turned his stomach. “Not really.” 

He could still see the soft constellation of her freckles in the dim light. Hell, even if he closed his eyes, he could map Jemma’s face as accurately as he could chart the stars. 

His heart clenched. “How’s…how’s Will?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded normal. Cool. Calm.

Jemma tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to talk about Will.”

Fitz swallowed dryly. Right. Everything about their relationship had changed. There were things they couldn’t talk about now. Every word was a landmine. 

Jemma reached out and touched the back of his hand. It was an innocent gesture between two old friends. He wished it didn’t send radio static across his skin. “I wanted to thank you,” she said.

Fitz stared at their hands. Jemma’s nails were still ragged from lingering dehydration, her once smooth fingertips were as rough as sandpaper. She was different now. Maveth had changed her.

“Fitz,” she said, saying his name in that chiding way she sometimes used. She smiled softly, and he wished she would stop—the taste of her lips a memory he wished he could siphon from his memory.

He did not want to be thanked. He wanted something else entirely. Something that would not be soft or friendly. 

Fitz pulled his hand away. “It’s fine,” he said roughly, grabbing the sandwich he was definitely not going to eat. 

He tried not to breath as he brushed past her. She would smell like the rubbing alcohol they used in the lab and the expensive honeysuckle lotion he had given her last Christmas. It shouldn’t be appealing but everything about her was driving him crazy. 

She said his name again, and this time there was a touch of pleading in her voice. It was a tone he wasn’t capable of ignoring. 

He turned. Jemma had tucked her hands into her sleeves. There was a shadow of a bruise on her jaw, still fading from Ward’s torture. 

She was lovely standing in the light of the hallway. Small and mild. Mousy and quiet. No one would ever guess the depth of her intelligence or strength. That’s what he loved about her. 

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, her hands twisting inside her sleeves. “Am I going to lose you?” 

Fitz knew what she wanted to hear. He had crossed the universe to save her. Had risked his life—twice. And he would do it again without hesitation. But he couldn’t give her this small comfort. 

His smile felt like glass. “I just need some time.” 

***

Will was sitting up in his cot in the infirmary. The only light was the pale blue glow of the borrowed computer on his lap. It was strange to see him sitting there, clean and freshly shaven, his damp hair curling at the back of his neck. 

Mack had lent him a pair of sweats and a plain white t-shirt. Jemma had never seen Will in anything other than his uniform. He seemed out of place. An alien on his own planet. 

She moved closer, tapping quietly on the glass of the isolation room. The corner’s of Will’s eyes crinkled when he saw her, such a stark contrast to Fitz’s shattered smile that her stomach clenched. 

Jemma forced herself to smile back. “What have you discovered?” she asked, nodding at the laptop. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to catch up on fourteen years of news in one night. 

Will shook his head and put the computer aside, getting to his feet. “Well, the bad news is that the world is a still a hot mess.” 

Jemma nodded, thinking of Hydra and secret societies that dabbled in human sacrifice. Not to mention climate change, over population, and the startling popularity of kale. 

He held up the iPhone Coulson had issued. For the first time Jemma noticed the white earbud cord dangling from Will's neck. “The good news,” he continued brightly. “is that every song ever written is on this tiny magical device.” 

Jemma laughed. “I guess there are a couple good things.” 

Will grinned at her, that slow sexy smile that touched his eyes. 

They used to play a game in the cave on Maveth to pass the time. He’d ask her the most obscure fact about life back on earth, and if she didn’t know the answer, she’d make one up. Every imaginary fact became more ridiculous than the last. The laughter between them had been one of the few thing that had kept her sane. 

But they weren’t in the cave anymore. They had been saved. Fitz had saved her. 

Jemma’s smile faded as Will came closer, his movement’s deliberate and slow as his body adjusted to the denser gravity. He looked thin and pale. She supposed he’d always looked that way. 

He had survived years of malnutrition and sunlight deficiency on Maveth, but he had seemed larger than life to her. If it weren’t for Will, she would have died on that damn planet. He had shown her how to best protect herself during a dust storm, how to decontaminate the water, and where to dig for the “best” insects. Not to mention keeping her warm on the long cold nights. 

Will put his hand on the glass opposite hers. There was a cut still healing across his palm. Jemma wanted to touch him. Wanted the solid proof of his skin that Maveth had been real. That every endless day she had suffered had been real. 

She licked her lips. No matter how much lip balm she used, they still seemed dry. “Is there anything else you need in there?”

Will fiddled with the end of the earbuds. She could dimly hear the music he had been listening to before she’d interrupted.

Jemma had no idea what type of music Will liked. In fact, she knew nothing about real Will. Didn’t know what cake he asked for on his birthday or what car he liked to drive. She only knew Maveth-Will. 

Jemma focused on his fidgeting fingers. It was easier than looking into his eyes. 

“How’s our friend Fitz?” Will asked.

Jemma pulled her hand from the glass, watching the ghostly impression of her palm fade. “I..he’s…I haven’t…” She wrapped her lips around the stammer.

She crossed her arms, hating the blush she could feel blooming on her cheeks. “Why?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I know pretending problem’s don’t exist is your MO but it’s not mine. We need to talk about this.”

Jemma lifted her chin. “Talk about what?” 

She wanted to take back the words as soon as they were out of her stupid mouth. Will was not the kind of man who backed down from a challenge. 

He pursed his lips and tapped his chin in fake consideration. “Well, let’s see. We slept together. I enjoyed it very much. I enjoy you very much. However you were the first woman I laid eyes on in fourteen very long years so…” 

She started sputtering. 

Will held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I like you, Jemma Simmons—a lot.” His dark eyes were steady on hers. “But we need to be practical. We both thought we were going to die on that damn planet.” He shook his head and let out a breath. “But here we are.”

All around them, Jemma could hear the base waking up. A door closed quietly. The smell of coffee drifted down the hall. Her phone buzzed inside her pocket. “Here we are,” she echoed softly. 

“Fitz loves you.” 

Jemma swallowed, the blush finally reaching her cheeks. Will said those words like they were a fact. Old history. But they didn’t feel old when they broke against her heart. 

“What do you want me to say to that?” she ask wearily.

“What do I want you to say?” he asked sharply, eyes narrowing. “I want you to say that you love me. Only me. “ He threw up his hands. “I want you to say that you want to run away to a tropical island somewhere and make babies and live a normal, happy life.”

Jemma’s breath caught. 

She thought of the cottage in Perthshire. Thought of the small front porch and the hill of purple thistle behind it. Thought of the sheets hanging on the clothesline with their delicate pattern of flowers and the baby jumper flapping in the wind. 

It was a ridiculous dream. Every bit as ridiculous as Will’s. But she had kept that dream—a sliver of hope inside her heart—for as long as she could remember. 

Jemma shook her head. The lab’s tile floor was cold against her bare feet as she stumbled away from the glass. Away from Earth-Will and his steady eyes. 

“I need some time,” she managed, wrapping Fitz’s hoodie tighter around her middle as she fled.


End file.
